so rich that they were
separated by their money from those about them. They had time to read and
to think. They were perhaps no better than the people in the big house on
top of the terrace, but they lived at a more leisurely pace, and it
seemed to her at this moment that they got more out of life.

She wanted more than anything in the world to be to-night with that
little group at Crossroads, to meet Cousin Sulie's sparkling glance, to
sit at Nancy's knee, to hear Richard's big laugh, as he came in and found
the women waiting for the news of the outside world that he would bring.

She knew that she could have the little school if she asked for it. But a
sense of dignity restrained her. She could not go back now. It would seem
to the world that she had followed Richard. Well, her heart followed him,
but the world did not know that.

She heard voices. Geoffrey and Marie-Louise were at the river's edge.

"It is as if there were just the two of us in the whole wide world,"
Marie-Louise was saying. "That's what I like about the darkness. It seems
to shut everybody out."

"But suppose the darkness followed you into the day," Geoffrey said,
"suppose that for you there were no light?"

A rim of gold showed above the blackness of the Jersey hills.

"Oh," Marie-Louise exulted, "look at the moon. In a moment there will be
light, and you thought you were in the dark."

"You mean that it is an omen?"

"Yes."

"What a small and comfortable person you are," Geoffrey said, and now
Anne could see the two of them silhouetted against the brightening sky,
one tall and slim, the other slim and short. They walked on, and she
heard their voices faintly.

"Do I really make you comfortable, Geoffrey Fox?"

"You make me more than that, Marie-Louise."

CHAPTER XXIII

_In Which Richard Rides Alone._

"EVE."

"Yes, Pip."

"Can't you see that if he cared Richard would do the thing that pleased
you--that New York would be Paradise if you were in it?"

"Why shouldn't Crossroads be Paradise to me--with him?"

"It couldn't be."

"I am going to make it. I talked it over last night with Aunt Maude.
She's an old dear. And I shall be the Lady of the Manor. If Dicky won't
come to New York, I'll bring New York down to him."

"It can't be done. And it's going to fail."

"What is going to fail?"

"Your marriage. If you are mad enough to marry Brooks."

She mused. "Pip, do you remember the fat Armenian?"

"At Coney? Yes